'What?... Where… am I?' His mind was tired and refused to move, his thoughts felt glued down, preventing any action.

'Who… am I?' Everything was dark as he sank deeper. Consciousness wavered, coming and going, the confusion lingering without end.

'How beautiful.' With half-opened eyes, he could only see a faint, silvery light in the distance—a distant, intangible beauty, ethereal in some way. It demanded adoration, a perfect image that could not be honored in this moment.

A small smile formed in the darkness, never to be seen by anyone; even if it were, it would be only hated.Demons shouldn't have the chance to smile or rejoice at the gifts of the gods.Someone like him, worse than demons, even less.

His memories slowly became clearer. 'I must have lost. Well, that's the price of trying—defeat.'

He could smell and taste death from afar; he had seen this scene too many times not to recognize it. His enemies died before his eyes by the thousands. Whenever he went into battle, the reaper had to work in a day more than in decades.

'It doesn't matter how I ended up here.' Just like that. Which of the countless adversaries he'd waged war against had finally managed to kill him? What did it matter now that he was dying? Spirits, Giants, Titans, Gods, Archons, Celestials and even celestial laws wanted him dead.

Who could blame him for rebelling against his own fate? From the day he was born to the day he died, all he knew was the tyranny of the powerful, while his peers had to kill each other for a slice of bread.

Since birth, they had to be careful of friends and family who might try to sacrifice them to demons for power—or simply decide to eat the flesh of their companions.

No one was trustworthy, and the world was heading toward its final destruction, something mortals like him couldn't change at all. The divine,they should turn to for protection, were the cause of their destruction and misery.

The world's clock was already in its last seconds, its ticking growing louder and more aggressive. As a last spark of hope, he rose above the rocks, in a sea of volcanic ash.

The city where they'd spent the last few years was ablaze after yet another clash between divinities. His relatives had been dead for a long time, in a distant past and under terrible circumstances. Now, the few he called family—the ones who took him in, even if superficially and briefly—met the same end as the wooden homes they'd struggled to build. This would be the fate of all who survived the disaster.

There was no doubt about it; how many times had they moved in the past, trying to escape the fighting? How many times had they seen innocent people die like insects, crushed and burned by a sadistic child?

Above the rock, in a cape covered in ash, he raised his hand, letting one of the ashes fall onto it. The crackling of burning flesh from the intense heat. The smell of burned meat filled the air, etching itself into history. He clenched his fist, intensifying the pain and the sounds.

"Running is pointless. Divine beings don't care about us, and many want us dead. Even if they don't, their conflict will drive us to extinction." He turned, and below him, thirteen figures knelt, their faces hooded, listening only to their leader's words.

Among them, size and age mattered little, and race or species had even less value. Mortals on the brink of extinction couldn't afford to care about such things. Children and the elderly knew this as much as men and women, the young and strong. Even the crippled and sick had to fight against injustice.

"We'll fight against the divine and teach them to respect us, even if it leads to the total destruction of the world." Under any other circumstances and by any other person, this statement would have been absurd for many reasons. Killing those intrinsically tied to the world itself would only bring it closer to final calamity.

Killing one of the divine beings would potentially kill the concept it represented. If they killed gods the world would collapse.

Yet for them, this was already the final calamity. The world was already uninhabitable. Any newborn attempting to breathe would die instantly in the increasingly toxic air. Even the adults were slowly poisoning themselves, barely able to cope with the consequences.

This was their last chance to try and change something; if they succeeded, they could steal divine authority and change everything. Or at least make their lives a little less painful in one last rebellion.

All of this, however, could only be considered another desperate gamble. Since never has a mortal transcended without the help of the gods.

'I really thought I'd change something... the dreams of youth are indeed fertile.' Though he didn't know the details, the fact was that he'd failed; the past was written in stone, and nothing could change that. The grudges of life could only be erased and forgotten now.

'I hope they survived.' The thirteen who followed him in his revolt were his primary motivation to keep fighting and plotting. The bond they shared was greater than blood.

They were warriors who had fought together so often they knew each other more intimately than any lover they'd ever had. They knew each other's flesh and bones, reaching into the deepest parts of their souls.

'Maybe I knew them too well…'

"Never get involved with each other; in our battle, we could depart at any moment, and feelings will only get in the way."" He himself had told his soldiers this. And still, he'd ask every morning,

"Did you sleep well, my sweet Emilia?" Looking back, it was mortifying. He was the first to break the rule he'd set himself. The young woman with white hair streaked with blue woke up beside him every day.

He knew every freckle on her body, something he'd never noticed on anyone else. The moments when they talk like children around each other put needles in his chest that took away any trace of dignity.

'I'm supposed to be a damn general—how did I let this happen?' Even worse… he gradually recalled having been seen doing this…

He had someone... many waiting for him, how could he just rest here in the middle of nowhere?

'To hell with it, I can't die yet without clearing my image!' Damn the repulsive feeling of death. Bit by bit, he remembered where he was and who he was.

His cold, damp body was sinking deeper into the water; his lungs had long been without air. He was suffocating, but he could still see the moonlight calling him to the surface.

Summoning all the meager strength he had left, he swam toward the light, his intense movements showing his determination to stay alive, trying his best to cling to a thin thread of hope that could break at the slightest touch.

It was that thread he had pursued from beginning to end, and he wouldn't stop now. His odyssey wouldn't end today.

Around him, he could feel the ripples in the water; he knew with all certainty he wasn't alone, and whatever it was, it wasn't small. Gradually, he saw a shadow approaching.

The serpentine figure had a massive, red horn like a lance pointing in his direction. Its eyes were a deep, abyssal black, and blood-red stripes crossed its skin, marked with countless scars.

Needless to say, it grew larger the closer it came; at first, it was the size of a car, then it seemed more like a colossal commercial plane.

"I swear if you try to swallow me, I'll eat your guts, you damn beast!" By this point, the colossal mouth was already closing around him. Satisfied, the leviathan swam away without caring about this minor issue. To him, the young man was just a snack, not even a full meal.

…

…

In the silent night on a starry beach, a seemingly simple and ordinary teenage boy was fishing. Crying, he prayed to the moon goddess for help with all his growing troubles. His worst fears had ended up becoming reality.

"Lady of the moon, please give me a sign that everything will be okay! Something unique that resonates with me, a definitive proof. Show me that even the most whimsical dreams can be real. Make me believe in the impossible!"

He'd prayed fervently so many times that he couldn't even count on his fingers anymore. Yet only the sound of the waves comforted him, with the moon always showing itself as a distant, cold figure.

His last hopes started to fade with a deep, heavy sigh, as he turned his back on all the lies and hopes he'd nurtured for all these years. But then he stopped as he heard a fierce roar, strong enough to shake the earth and sea without any difficulty.

From the sea, a giant wave surged, carrying a shadow with it and throwing it against the rocks. When he came to, a leviathan was lying beside him on the sand. The figure that symbolizes death for all fishermen and sailors lay still, emitting no more sound.

"I warned you, you damn beast!" Opening its mouth, a young adult emerged. His eyes were crimson red, his clothes tattered, and his hair black.

He spat blood and meat that wasn't his. With clenched teeth, he looked around, paying no mind to the boy's tear-stained eyes, now filled with renewed hope.

"Are you… the moon's envoy?" The man, hearing this, furrowed his brows for a few moments and wondered,

"Haven't I already killed that whore?"